Words
by Mewdu
Summary: The fewest words and smallest actions always seems to lead into the longest thought. Assorted SC! oneshots
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This. This story. I don't know what to think of it. I never thought I'd post an a SC! story, much less an Amuto, considering I prefer Kutau above anything else. Though my good friend En ar Ciel convinced me to post it. And I've decided to dedicate it to you. ^_^ PP is going to take too long to finish, so will you take this as a substitute instead? Happy almost-end of January.

And don't take this too seriously. I wrote it in fifteenmaybe30minutes based on the word _marriage_. Oh bah. Details.

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><p><em>Popsicle<em>

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><p>"<em>It's ridiculous<em>."

Amu clutched the phone in between her neck and shoulder blade, licking hesitantly at an orange popsicle as she tried to form a reply that wouldn't incur Utau to instantly slam down the phone on her end. It was obvious Utau loved Kukai, her husband that she complained of his frequent _useless_, _irresponsible_, _whimsy_, _irritating_ attitude that would end them stuck in a wallowing pit of debt. Though Amu knew she only called whenever Kukai was away on games for the team he coached. And she never brought it up with him because it was a sore subject. He'd torn a ligament in his early days of college soccer.

Everyone told him to quit.

_"And the idiot would probably still be smiling," _she curtly added before mulling in her own silence again.

Amu laughed lightly. "Kukai's always been that way." Her brow immediately scrunched at the memory of him tugging her along during their Guardian days for _training_. Her mouth poised in an 'o', she couldn't muster up a word to contribute without Kukai seeming like the bad guy. Popping static answered her obvious plea for another subject. "Um," she tried, "how's your modeling work going?"

Instantly, Amu knew she'd asked the wrong question. She bit deep into the popsicle, silently berating herself.

_"Fine,"_ was her clipped response. _"Even though no one seems to want an __**old lady **__as their model, I've been getting more jobs lately."_

Amu flinched at the cold tone. Utau never forgot an insult. And she wasn't one to shove it back up someone's face blatantly once she proved them wrong.

_"Ignorant degenerates," _she darkly muttered.

At least, not too often.

"You're only 25, Utau," she happily encouraged.

_"..."_

Amu pressed the phone tighter against her neck, quietly listening. Apparently for longer than she'd thought, as the popsicle had begun to run down her hand. She disdainfully rubbed her sugary-coated fingers on the towel hanging from the counter.

_"Kukai wants kids."_

The phone tumbled from her grasp and clattered to the floor. Amu yelped and stepped forward to retrieve it, when she slipped on the small puddle formed from the popsicle, and ran face first into the fridge before crumpling to the floor, clutching her nose. She grasped for the phone, glumly noting her popsicle had flown to mysterious whereabouts into a dusty corner.

"Utau, are you still there?" she asked, pinching closed her nose with two free fingers when she noticed it had started to bleed. "Sorry, I dropped my phone."  
>There was a thump to her left, and Amu looked up, face draining white when she noticed Ikuto standing there, who had loudly placed some of her textbooks on the table and was faced away from her, shoulders shaking in laughter.<p>

"Ikuto!" She stood up quickly, facing away from him so he couldn't see her pinching her nose shut.

"_Ikuto? Is he there? Let me talk to him." _Amu nearly cried out. Utau rarely mentioned something that bothered her. The moment had been whisked away so easily at the first utterance of his name. Amu purposefully stared at him, who had taken to nonchalantly flipping through her college text books.

She held the phone toward Ikuto, who didn't notice. She waved it under his nose a few times before he suddenly looked at her, and lost all expression.

His lip twitched once like he wanted to laugh. She probably looked like a mess, still in her robe, with orange smears running the length of her right arm and slathered across the white kittens on her robe.

He gave her a placid once-over, then began flipping through the textbook again. "Who is it?"

"Utau," she whispered.

He picked up the book of interest, turned, and stalked away without acknowledgment.

"Hey!" He turned toward her halfheartedly, slipping one hand into the pocket of his jeans.

A lone blue brow lifted.

She frantically motioned toward the phone, which had fallen to an eerie, icy silence with the occasional spurt of static.

_"Amu?"_

Amu lifted the phone to her ear, letting her face of irritation dissolve into one of a controlled smile. "Yes, Utau?"

_"Just leave him be. I'll call you later."_

"O-okay," she sputtered, smile falling. "Bye Utau."

The line cut to a dull thrum. Amu slipped her phone into the pocket of her robe, letting her fingers fall from her nose.

Without her notice, Ikuto had crept up beside her. One hand placed on the counter, head hanging above her right shoulder. "You smell like oranges."

Amu delicately slid away from the free hand that had fallen to her hip.

"She wanted to talk to you. Why didn't you take the phone?" She crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at him. Despite the years he'd taken to travel back to Japan after 5 years of searching for his father, she'd only grown an inch. Ikuto found it amusing, where she found it irritating.

His head fell to the side.

"Did she? I was wondering why you were telling me who it was." His gaze lifted to above her head, growing glassy.

Amu refused a groan, and clenched her teeth to keep from replying.

"What did she want?" he asked, fumbling with the bread bag on the counter.

Amu watched him. She placed a finger to her chin. "I'm not sure."

A gap of silence grew between them. Ikuto glanced at her, noticing as she fidgeted and fumbled her thumbs. He dropped the knife with a clang.

No words were uttered. He simply stood in front of her. Amu leaned against him, finally letting loose a breath when his arms closed around her. "Kukai wants kids," she mumbled into his chest.

He probably hadn't told her. But it was obvious, with the kids he coached. The way he lingered after practice to help them with a goal, cried when they cried, grew in tune to their anger and frustrations.

"I never know what you're thinking," she sighed, clamping her hands over her mouth in embarrassment when she realized she hadn't just thought that to herself.

He smiled slightly. "Right now?"

"I have a feeling I already know," she deadpanned. Ikuto chuckled.

"I guess I don't need to tell you then."

Amu glanced up at him warily, pushing away from his chest. "What?"

He placed a fingers to his lips, his smile quiet. "Stay still."

Amu confusedly watched him as he took her face in his hands and turned her ear toward him, leaning close.

_"Let's get married."_


	2. Chapter 2

_ **A/N:**_So Yeah. I've decided this is bascially my SC! oneshot/drabble dumping ground. For the short, mindless fluffy ones. Amuto this time again. Why do I keep getting ideas for them? T_T Enjoy.

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><p><em>The List<em>

It was a request he hadn't expected.

"Write me a list."

The command comes through a foggy haze, and he blinks slowly, eyes narrowing in slits when he looks up to see Amu above him over the couch, black paint smeared over her cheek and pen cap between her lips as she scribbles something on a piece of paper, brow furrowing with a slight frown tilting her lower lip as she concentrates. He takes a deep breath, sighing through his nose and burying his head back into the pillow, attributing it to hearing things in his sleep again. Amu hardly dared to wake him up anymore after the first time, when he'd dragged her against him on the couch to get her to be quiet so he could sleep.

Of course, she'd ended up elbowing him in the face out of surprise. But it had been amusing to see her so flustered about the bruise.

"Ikuto..." He feels her breath, warm against his bare cheek. Opening one eye, he sees she'd taken to leaning on the balls of her feet so that her eyes were level with his. She looks at him, honey eyes wide as she stares into his face, holding up the small piece of paper between forefinger and thumb so he can see. She taps it with her free hand, speaking in a softer tone unconsciously. "Grocery list."

"Mmh." He turns his face away, now comprehending the situation as she continues, tone growing slowly in pitch as if she was oblivious to his half-conscious state.

"I'm not sure what kind of food you like, so just write it down for me."

He rolls over onto his back, running his fingers through his hair as he half-listens to her and takes to watching her pace across the kitchen and back, tapping the pen against her chin as she stares at her list. He had been here three weeks already, and she went to grocery store every Friday. A list was the least thing he expected to be demanded from him. At the thought, his gaze lazily gravitates towards the fridge behind her, and the yellow note book paper tacked lopsided on it with a puppy magnet. The Rule List.

_That _list, he was well aware of.

He smiles slightly, sitting up so he can come up behind her, head hooking right over her ear, arm reaching over her shoulder so he leans his palm against the fridge. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a slight flush stretch across her cheeks from the sudden movement. Expression completely placid, he states it calmly next to her ear. "Strawberry milk."

"R-rule three," she finally manages to sputter, falling back against him accidentally when she points at the list roughly, ducking under his arm and attempting to control her flushed expression as she walks backwards, eyes narrowed suspiciously as she watches him. "No touching. That's a strike."

"Mmh." He leans against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest as he watches her lay the pen and paper on the table. Every rule broken earned a strike, with three strikes getting him kicked out and on the streets again. His quota was reset every week despite her constant threats. He smiles slightly. "I wasn't touching you..." Observing her silently, he walks up beside her carefully, leaning one palm flat against the table and hovering over her shoulder as closely as he had done before. His tone is low as his lips hang above her ear. "You bumped into me. Does that mean you get a strike for touching me?"

When she jumps back from him, fighting for her words, he picks up the pen with a completely placid expression, one dark eyebrow perking slightly as he attempts to think of possible food to add.

"Well, no. But. You..." She clamps her lips tight, brow furrowing as she walks back over to the list, picking up a spare pen and adding a quick detail. She taps it, looking particularly satisfied. "Rule seven. No standing closer than necessary."

Ikuto sighs lightly through his nose, watching her walk back into the living room out of the corner of his eye before his azure gaze glances back at the grocery list. She had drawn little red hearts at the edges, and a smiley face next to milk. He chuckles once, knowing it was a ritual of hers to drink it daily. Lips parting, he's about to tell her he's finished, not having added anything to the list at all, when he looks again to _The List _on the fridge and walks up to it, gaze dull as he stares at the specified details next to all seven demands. Unclipping the cap with his teeth, he starts to add in his own details, glancing over his shoulder once to see her sprawled along the couch, bare legs dangling over the armrest.

Blue brow rising in interest, he abandons the altered list and pen and walks over, hands in his pockets as he leans forward, observing her sleeping face as he speaks quietly, tone too low for her to wake. "Three strikes, Miss Hinamori?" He sits next to her, one arm stretched across the crest of the couch as he listens to her snore lightly. Glancing at her, he notices she had worn a tank top and shorts today to help ignore the summer heat, instead of bothering to ask the landlord again to fix the AC.

Ikuto sighs, reaching forward to brush away a stray lock of hair from her face that had slipped from her headband. Her cheekbones look sharper, lips more defined. But she still appears almost like a child in her sleep, expression gently lax and lips parted slightly. Just as she had 5 years ago, when he'd first left. "Oh." He lifts his hand away, staring at it without expression. "I guess that would be a strike. Rule 1: No touching."

Silent for a moment, a small, amused tilt to his lip suddenly threatens his calm demeanor. He leans over her, lips hanging above her forehead before he gently presses them to her skin. "Strike two..."

Eye half-lidded, he watches her stir from the contact, brow growing tight for a moment and mumbling darkly before she relaxes again. Testing his luck to a ridiculous point, he leans over her again, bangs brushing over her cheeks as his lips hang over hers. Her eyelids flutter, but she doesn't move. "Three..."

An inch above her own face, her eyes shoot wide open, stance going rigid before she scrambles up quickly, lips catching against his as their faces slam together. She lays back down, mouth slowly growing in a solid 'O' as she stares up at him, wordless and clutching the couch.

His face contorts in slight pain as he leans his head back, fore finger and thumb clutching the bridge of his nose where she'd slammed into him. He feels the couch sink as she clambers up and away from him, eyes still wide and stumbling over her words as she sticks to the wall. "Y-you. You just—"

Ikuto watches her calmly with one eye closed, nose still throbbing. She bites her lip, switching from foot to foot as her gaze dances around wildly, attempting to find the words. Finally, she points at him. "Strike! That's a strike! Your second one...or third." Her brow furrows as she mouths the math to herself, attempting to make sense of just how many strikes he'd had in this weeks alone.

He stands, watching her in wry amusement as she suddenly stiffens when he comes closer, stopping a foot from her to rub at his nose again. Her expression softens, and she watches him worriedly, hands clasped as guilt overshadows her embarrassment. She steps forward. "Ikuto?"

When he doesn't respond immediately, eyes still closed, he feels her hand touch his cheek, guiding his face down to look at her. She mumbles quietly to herself."It doesn't look bruised...

He opens his eyes, catching her hand before she has the chance to pull away. "Strike two."

"What? What do you mean strike two? Ikuto—" She attempts to pull away weakly, but he intertwines their fingers, smiling barely. He tests his chances, taking a step forward so she has no choice but to scuttle back, caught between the wall and him. He minds his distance, rule number 7 nagging vaguely at the back of his mind as he's aware she would use any excuse to escape him.

"You bumped into me and kissed me. Considering that..." He leans down, eyes level with hers as he speaks quietly. "Strike two, Amu."

Her lips part, but no words fall from her as she stands against the wall, eyes wide. Suddenly, the door left to them bursts open, and Kukai stands there, running a hand through his hair and whistling loudly as he steps through the door with a less-than-pleased looking Utau behind him, arms crossed over her chest. "Hey, Amu! The door was unlocked, so—"

Kukai halts, eyes wide as he takes in the scene, the absence of words from the boy strangely unnerving. The four friends are silent for a moment before Amu breaks from Ikuto, cheeks flush as she rambles off excuses to Utau, who silently stands off to the side in her two-piece swimsuit, lips pursed.

"Well, we brought icecream, guys." Already having gotten over the moment he'd interrupted, Kukai sets down his cooler on the kitchen table, tearing open a wrapper as he walks over to the fridge, lips already stained light blue as he observes the yellow list, frowning slightly as his green eyes narrow in concentration. "...What is this?"

Amu stops dead, hands flailing as she jogs over to where Kukai is, ripping the list from his prying hands. Her eyes scan over the page, face reddening before she looks up at Ikuto, pitch growing as she observes his edits.

"You crossed out all _seven_?"

He sits down on the couch, leaning his head back as he closes his eyes before nearly sighing his reasoning through half-parted lips.

"I revised it."

_Rule 1: Amu Hinamori is property of Ikuto Tsukiyomi_

After all, it was the most important rule.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Uuuhh. This is gift to precious Caitycake. I haven't written on ffnet in so long, it feels odd- This was written in a time span of twenty minutes, give or take. I'm not too fond of it, but I wanted to write something quick and Amuto. There 'ya go.**

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><p><em>Too Young<em>

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><p>She was nervous. The word didn't even begin to encompass the jittery flutter evident in her wide gaze, pink brows knitted together like a tight knot at the point between her eyes, right above her nose; wrinkled as she caught a sniff of the sharp substance from the short liquor bottle.<p>

"_Ugh,_" she nearly retches, holding the bottle from her small frame as if she were appraising a rat in the palm of her hand. "Why do you drink this stuff? Mm-nm, _mn-nm,_" she stresses with a short shake of her head, ponytail swishing as she does so, offering him the bottle by tipping it forward. The action prompts a sudden faint, amused grin from the male sitting across from her, spine to the fridge and elbow propped up on one knee. They were both sprawled out on the floor of her kitchen, nestled in a tiny corner of her small apartment.

"Why..." He repeats the question in a low, lazy murmur just to rile the small girl, weak smile tugging at his lips as he watches the flustered flutter of her expression, cheeks tinted pink as he holds the bottle to her chest again, guarding it close as if it were a treasure now. "You know you don't have to, Amu."

"No," she instantly disagrees, lips parting with a small frown and even quieter sigh. "I asked you first."

It was true. Even as she stared down the length of the bottle, squinting to eye the clear liquid nestled inside, sloshing quietly when she shifts and shoulder pressing against the cool wood of her cabinetry, she knew this. She had been the one to dial Ikuto's number, long ago archived into the back of her phone's contact list. She had been the one to quietly whisper his name, biting her lip as she choked down a sob. She had been the first to request alcohol as if she were asking for spare sugar, voice shaking and every syllable cracking as she required his company as if they had seen each other every day rather than for the first time in two years.

She had been the one to pull him inside her apartment even before _"hello" _could slip from his tongue and clutch to him as if he were the only thing securing her upright, legs quivering as she collapsed to her knees.

"I'll drink first," she reaffirms, the expression on her face sharp as she concentrates, both hands curled around the bulk of the bottle. Faint, red ringlets still mar the corner of her eyes from crying, makeup smudged slightly under her right eyelid.

Instead of answering, Ikuto hums in response. His dark eyes are alight with a subtle amusement, hands clasped in front of him as he waits patiently. The rapt attention for the first time all night, even after she sobbed into his front for over an hour, embarrasses her. Bottle tipped to her lips, she very suddenly frowns, breaking contact with the bottle with a sharp breath and twist of her head.

"No," she suddenly disagrees, mind running wild with every possibility as to just why this was a very, _very _bad idea, not including the fact that a man she hadn't heard from in years was suddenly lazing around in her kitchen like a common alley cat. _Funny, _she wryly thinks to herself. _Considering._ Lips sealed into a thin, white line, she offers the bottle back to him, chin tilted up in simple defiance. "I'm too young."

Ikuto quirks a brow, response wordless as he reaches to receive the alcohol.

"_No,_" she stresses, cradling it against her ribs as she stares at him wide-eyed. "You're supposed to reassure me."

His expression is blank, opinion-_if he had any_-void on his impassive, sharp features.

"Reassure," he repeats, word numb of any immediate emotion. He tilts his head, gaze directed at his feet as if he were taking a moment to ponder the thought before hanging over her face again. "You're right," he muses dryly in agreement, holding up the palm of his hand, fingers stretched out. "Eighteen is too young. I should take it back."

Her lips part in soundless shock, crawling to a stand before he can move any closer even if his lackadaisical body language suggested entirely otherwise. She moves behind the small table beside the fridge, cowering behind it with the bottle clutched under her arm and balanced against her hip.

"No-I'm going to drink it."

A quiet sigh parts Ikuto's lips, although he appears more amused than anything. He remains against the fridge, chin tilting up as he silently eyes her from the floor, gaze half-lidded. "Okay."

Amu teeth work worriedly against her bottom lip, grip encircling around the thin head of the bottle as if she were wringing out a wet towel. "I'm going to," she reaffirms, quieter this time.

Ikuto smiles, expression gentle as his words slip from him in almost a whisper. "Okay."

Amu moves closer, steps soft against the wood of her floor as she plops down in front of him. "Can you..." She wrinkles her nose, words sticking to the edge of her tongue. She thrusts it into his lap without warning. "Show me." Brow furrowing and cheeks burning, she fumbles out a quiet, "...please."

Without a word, Ikuto sets the bottle aside. His hand lifts as he remains wordless despite her request, fingers grazing over Amu's cheek so suddenly that she flinches with a quiet intake of breath. Her fingers curl against her thighs, eyes wide as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and leans forward. His lips coast over her cheek, breath hitting against the inner curve of her ear as he thumbs at the slightest smudge of makeup curled under her eye. Breath hitching sharply from the subtle touches, she shuts her eyes as he suddenly seems too close and everywhere at once. The top button of his collar was undone, sharp line of his neck dipping into the curve of his collar bone. A faint scent hung around his lean form, smokey fragrance curling into her lungs as his fingers gently trace the line of her cheek.

Her lips part just as the final comment is whispered against her skin, and he feels his feline-like grin against her temple.

_"It's just vinegar."_


End file.
